


city’s ours until the fall

by VerdantMoth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Long Hair, M/M, Slow Dancing, Snow, Steve needs to butt out, bucky with braids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:40:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: “Snow’s only pretty when it first falls,” Peter grumbles.





	city’s ours until the fall

Bucky’s got this habit, a tick. He leaves this quirk all over their shitty apartment, stupid little cancer sticks smoked almost all the way. 

Peter’s never been able to figure out why Bucky does it, leaves that last fourth unsmoked. He doesn’t even think Bucky realizes he does it. 

It’s nice though, knowing that the stoic Soldier has a quirk. Peter can’t explain  _ why  _ it pleases him. Just like he can’t explain his dower mood as he watches the snow pelt the greasy window of their shared home. 

“Snow’s only pretty when it first falls,” he grumbles.

Bucky has half a cancer in his mouth, tip bright orange in the dying light of winter. Everything goes dark too early, but it doesn’t bother Bucky. He continues to read something called  _ A Judgment in Stone _ , grandpa glasses dripping off his nose. He does pat the cushion beside him, and Peter falls into it with a huff. Bucky lifts his arm, metal and fucking cold, but Peter just curls himself beneath it and settles against Bucky’s chest, tugging at the braid falling apart on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Steve says we should trim this,” he grouses. 

Bucky licks a human finger and turns a page, awkwardly. Ash falls onto his metal arm and he ignores it. Once he’s finished the paragraph, Peter is assuming, he closes the book and pulls his cigarette from his lips. “Do we do what Steve says, now?” he asks, amusement faint but there. Peter tugs the braid harder, then pulls the ugly afghan Pepper had, knitted, stitched… something, for them from the back of the couch. 

“We should consider it sometimes.” Peter sighs. He kicks his cold feet under Bucky’s thighs. 

Bucky cards his fingers through Peter’s hair. “If you think you’re getting shears near my head, then just know, we’re doing yours too.” 

Peter bares his teeth and bites at Bucky. 

Bucky sighs, a real put upon noise, and stands up, taking the blanket with him. He snuffs out his cigarette, a fourth of it left, and Peter squawks at him. Bucky just holds his hands out. 

“What?” Peter demands.

Bucky wiggles his fingers. Peter takes them, irritated. Bucky pulls him close, wraps Peter up and rest his chin in Peter’s curls. There’s no music. The storm has knocked all power out and Peter’s far too lazy to go to their cold bedroom for his phone. Still, Bucky hums a tune Steve used to. His voice aint nearly as pretty, all gruff and smoke heavy, but he thinks he’s doing well enough. Peter go slack in his arms, sways and mostly stops shivering. 

“It’d help if you wore the sweater and socks people got for you,” Bucky whispers.

Peter shrugs. He’s wearing Bucky’s hoodie and some of Aunt May’s old wool socks. “These are comfy.”

Bucky grins into his curls and then sways them to the window. “Look,” he says, quietly. 

Peter does. “It’s snowing and dark, Buck.” 

“Yeah, but it’s so quiet too. Look, the snow ‘s piling up, the stars glimmer through. No fake lights though, no tourist or kids or tired parents trudging around. It’s gonna be quiet like this for a few days. Just you and me and a whole city that doesn’t know what to do when the power goes off.” Bucky says it like it’s some sort of secret. 

“What do we do with it?” Peter asks, almost in awe. 

Bucky smiles. He tugs the blanket around them, hums a song he only half remembers, and presses a kiss behind Peter’s ear. “Anything we want, and absolutely nothing Steve tells us too.”


End file.
